Like the Night
by AlisonAPD
Summary: A collection of drabbles and oneshots - each set in a different AU (or not.)
1. Like the Night

_**Note - Many thanks to a certain blackfrost writer who gave me this idea: Natasha as the pursuer. I had a blast writing the piece!**_

* * *

**Like the Night**

* * *

The mortal confused him. Loki thought all Midgardians were meaningless pawns, mere figures on a Hnefatafl board to move at will. He mentioned his theory to Thor, who instantly went into a long explanation of why that was wrong; the lecture went on and on filled with phrases like "Our duty, brother" until at last he walked out in the middle because he was thoroughly bored.

In the hallway he ran smack into the mortal who had started his train of thought. "Hey, Loki," Natasha said. She offered him an apple from the bag she had slung over one arm. "I just stole these from Bruce's lab. Want one?" The question came with a saucy wink.

"I do not think so," he began stiffly, but she pressed the fruit into his hands anyway, ran her fingers over his, and sashayed off. Her hips set up a metronome of puzzlement in his mind.

It was the third time that day Natasha had cornered him. Earlier she came to his very rooms with a cup of what was called 'iced coffee.' Later she found him in the gym and proceeded to strip down to very little right in front of him before she started a series of graceful movements.

It was all very distracting, and Loki didn't like it.

_It is not as though she desires me,_ he reminded himself. How could she? Their first encounter had not been exactly…forthcoming. Now he was held on Midgard, free to work with the Avengers and aid them with his magic, but he was certain the female mortal wanted to punish him in her own way.

And so he continued to avoid her, ignoring her blatant flirtation at meetings and get-togethers. His nostrils flared with fury when he saw her familiar red and black figure undulating towards him at parties, her lips parted as she handed him a glass of champagne.

_No, I will stay away from her,_ Loki decided. The apple in his hand smelled good, however, and he took a bite. The juice cascaded down his chin, and he cursed as he wiped it with one sleeve. Who knew Midgardian food could be so delicious?

* * *

When they were thrown together on a case, Loki dreaded more of the same innuendoes and veiled promises. However, the Black Widow at work was quite different – immediately she became thoroughly professional.

"I've pinpointed all the weak links," Natasha said, opening a file on her laptop. They sat together in a hotel room on Baggott Street in Dublin, the computer propped up against another bag of apples. She seemed to have a weakness for them.

Unwillingly Loki edged closer and took a look at the map she displayed. His mind clicked into high gear and he ran a set of mental computations, taking traffic patterns and street visibility into account. "This would be the most likely place," he said, pointing to one of her virtual flags.

She leaned closer, the bright screen throwing her delicate features into sharp relief. "Not bad, but you're forgetting human nature. It's the most obvious weak spot, so the syndicate is certain to have it manned with hired guns." One slim finger, the nail short and unpolished, tapped another spot. "We'll go in here instead."

"But I think…"

"Nope, I'm making the call. That's where we'll enter tomorrow." Natasha sat back and pushed her hair back with both arms as she stretched luxuriously, like a cat. "Meanwhile, we're free tonight. Want to come out to dinner with me? Drinks afterward – maybe dancing?"

Her position accentuated the exquisite lines of her body. Resolutely Loki reached for the bag of apples and selected one. "I shall stay here," he said. "You go out if you wish."

Natasha rose and slid behind his chair like a panther on the prowl. "Are you certain?" she murmured into his ear, and he couldn't stop a shudder running through him at the feel of her breath on his neck. "We could have a lot of fun together, Loki – you and I."

"Just get out and have your meal!" he insisted. "I shall be prepared for the quest tomorrow."

"Your loss." Natasha left him abruptly with a wicked laugh, seized her phone, and pressed a button. His quick vision saw a name on the screen: _Niall_, with a long series of numbers following it. "Hey, baby," she said into the phone as she wiggled her fingers at the scowling god in a goodbye salute. "Meet me at our pub in thirty minutes."

Loki kicked his chair, strode after her, and shouted down the hallway, "Why do you own a pub?"

The only answer was another wicked laugh as she disappeared.

* * *

The next morning he sat gloomily over a plate of sausages. He didn't like Irish bacon and compared it to salty ham, but the eggs, buttered mushrooms, and sausages were delicious. At that moment, however, he was too angry to enjoy the food.

Sleep had come late. Throughout the night he found himself at the connecting door between his and Natasha's room, listening for her return; at length he slid into a troubled slumber filled with falling stars and ruined throne rooms.

He heard a stifled murmur as the businessman sitting behind him put down his newspaper. "That's a fine-looking one," the man commented, just as Natasha slipped into the chair opposite Loki's with a happy sigh.

"There's nothing better than a big breakfast buffet after dancing and drinking all night." She winked broadly at Loki, poured herself a cup of tea, and took a sip. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, of course," he answered stiffly. "I did not hear you come in."

Her grin widened. "I bet you didn't. It was three in the morning."

_It doesn't matter. Who cares how a mortal spends her evening? She can do what she desires, and I…_ "What were you doing until such late hours?" He couldn't stop himself asking the question.

"Having fun. Having drinks. Having a bit of a dance. You could have been there too, you know." Natasha took a huge bite of toast loaded with butter and licked her lips.

"Why are you doing this to me?" His voice was tight, strangled. "You do not even like me. Is that it? Is this some sort of mental torture?"

Natasha put down her toast. "But I do like you, Loki," she purred. He jumped as he felt her foot slide up his leg, over his knee, caress his crotch with her toes.

"I – it – we – it is time to go over our plan." Loki threw down his napkin, rose from the table, and marched out of the dining room.

She didn't follow.

* * *

The quest (or 'op', as Natasha called it) began inside a tiny antiques store. Dressed in Midgardian street clothes, they wandered into the store like any tourist couple.

Inside they were greeted by a woman in a severely cut suit. She was pleasant enough, going on about it being a "grand soft day" and asking where they stayed.

Natasha spoke for them, leaning across the counter and clasping her hands. Loki, watching her, thought how pretty she was with the rain sparkling in her hair, brighter than the diamonds under the plate glass displays. Again he wondered who Niall was. _Niall._ What a ridiculous name!

"I'm looking for something for my boyfriend," Natasha said in a stage whisper, holding up her palm and pointing to Loki. "Do you have a Mullingar Half-Hunter pocket watch in stock?"

The effect on the suited woman was electric. Her eyes widened, she gasped, and one hand felt for something under the counter. Instantly Natasha's arm shot out and captured her wrist. "Don't sound that alarm or I'll rip out your throat," the Black Widow said.

Loki, just as surprised as the woman, felt a bolt of electricity go straight to his groin at the sight of Natasha's ferocity. He had to shuffle a bit awkwardly to hide his erection; _not now, not ever,_ he told himself.

The woman cursed and held up her hands in an 'I surrender' gesture. Natasha raised her skirt, withdrew a gun from her thigh holster, and pointed it at the clerk. "Stanislaus," she said in a voice no longer breathy but pure steel. "I know he's here. Lock up and open the back for us."

The female hesitated. "I have seen her hit a direct target from a hundred paces," Loki added. "I should do as she says."

* * *

The back of the shop widened into a long passage lined with metal and several locked doors. The female led them to the end room; by the time she slid her key card through the slot her eyes were leaking. "They'll kill me for this," she sniffled.

Natasha slapped the woman's cheek gently. "I'll get you out if you are truly innocent. If you're not…" She drew one finger across her throat.

The door opened. A group of three men sat there, arguing in hushed voices. When they saw Natasha and Loki, one of them shouted and pulled out an object that looked, to Loki, like a small egg encased in metal.

Feeling in her belt, Natasha pulled off a disc and tossed it into the center of the group. She pushed the female inside and, with the same movement, put her arms around Loki to push him out of the way. "Widow's Kiss," she whispered into his neck. "It'll knock them out instantly."

"Thank you, agent," Loki said stiffly. He disentangled himself from her clutches. "As a god, I am immune to such devices…" A series of hacking coughs overtook him and he was unable to finish.

"Send backup and take them out," Natasha said into her phone. She stowed it in her shirt, grasped the choking god around his waist, and towed him firmly outside into the fresh air.

* * *

"Perfect." Natasha sat back from the laptop and hit Send. Her report, rewritten three times and edited to include the extra information she had found in a hidden safe, went on its digital way to SHIELD to be decoded and poured over by the techs and info pros. "We're done early, and the pubs are still open. Want to go have a drink? Or food? Or both?"

Loki recalled his erection in the antique shop, her toes in his crotch, the raindrops in her hair. "No, thank you. But," he hastily added, "you're not going to meet that fool called Niall, are you?"

As soon as she raised an eyebrow he realized his mistake. "How did you know his name?" One corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk. "Loki, has your demigod ass been spying on me?"

"Not at all." He shook his head firmly. "You told me when you went out."

"That's a lie. I never said his name."

Loki rewound the scene in his head and realized with belated fury she was right. "Perhaps I just am good at guessing," he hazarded.

Natasha rose with lithe grace and padded to the window. He heard a slight rush of air and a series of clicks; the next instant, he found he was cuffed to the chair. "How did you discover my business?" she murmured into his ear. Her hair tickled his neck.

Loki struggled against the restraints. "Agent, this is highly irregular! Let me out at once."

She swung one long leg over him and sat on his lap. "Nope. We both know you could break that chair and those cuffs in an instant. You _want_ me to tie you down."

The room seemed to get very hot. In despair Loki felt himself grow hard again under the pressure of her firm derriere. He couldn't resist rearing up, and the feeling of his length between the sweet globes of her ass was ecstatic. "Yes," he managed to stutter.

Natasha's face was a hair's breadth away from his. "Yes what?"

"Yes, I will…" He meant to say Go to the pub, but she cut him off by brushing her lips over his.

"I'll stop right now if you want," she whispered. "But I won't ask again. This is your final chance."

That was enough to make him clench his fists, burst the silly links around his wrists, and pick Natasha up in one motion. Her legs wound around his waist and she moaned as he strode to the bed, dropped her onto the mattress, fell on top of her to plunge his tongue in her mouth. She tasted like the apples from Banner's lab.

Loki's breath hitched in his chest. Desire came over him like a dizzy rush, as though he had drunk an entire barrel of mead. "Natasha," he gasped.

"You're one hell of a challenge, Loki," she smiled. "I simply had to have you." Arching her back, she captured his lower lip in her teeth and bit just enough for him to feel the implied danger she represented – the foremost assassin in SHIELD. And she lay underneath him like an offering. For the moment, at least, she was his.

The very idea was so intoxicating Loki felt he grew close to spending then and there. He closed his eyes, willed himself to calm down. After c_enturies of sex,_ he wondered, _why is this woman so exciting?_

Those thoughts fled as she unbuckled his belt, pulled it out and whipped it around his neck. "Now, I want to have some mischief." Natasha's eyes sparkled as she pulled him closer with the leather strap.

Loki felt a whimper force its way out of his mouth. He couldn't bear it. To keep himself from coming he pulled away, pushed down until he was level with her legs. The dress she was wearing rode up, and he was faced with her thong and the straps on her thighs holding her weapons. With a roar of lust he ripped the flimsy silk open and spread her like a feast, licking circles around her core until a rush of sweet fluid told him she was just as lusty as he was. Gods, had anyone ever made him so desperately hard before?

But he refused to fuck her until she had come for him at least once. Gently he pushed one finger inside, thumbed her clit as he licked underneath, on top, varying the motion until he found the perfect rhythm and her hips tilted under him. "That's it, baby," she purred. "Oh, Loki – I knew you'd be so good. I couldn't wait to have you in my bed. It's so sweet…"

_So sweet._ He had never tasted anyone so delicious. And as she cried and shook under his hands and tongue, Loki hummed against her quivering center to bring her over the edge.

Which she did with a rush and a growling series of curses, some in a harsh language he assumed was a dialect of Russian. When she stilled, her hands curled into his hair and she pulled him up to lie on top of her. "Now you're going to fuck me, Loki. Do you understand?" Natasha followed her order with a deep kiss, moaning as she tasted herself on his mouth.

_Gods, I have no other choice,_ he thought in confusion. A shout was wrest from him as he slid inside her, so wet and warm she was – a lovely secret all for him. She screamed too, praising his size and the way he filled her, so perfectly.

He couldn't stop. If a throng of Chitauri had entered the room at that moment – or worse, if the Stark fellow had burst in with cameras and a host of sly comments, he would have to keep riding Natasha right in front of them. It was just too incredible.

"Loki," she moaned. "Loki."

"Natasha," he whispered, holding himself back with a shudder. "I thought you hated me. I thought you would lure me in and leave me unfulfilled."

"Maybe I would have," she grinned. "That was before I felt how nice your cock is inside me. Now, stop talking and fuck me some more."

She rolled him onto his back and pulled the strap of the belt slightly around his neck, enough to make his breath whistle. All the while her hips never stopped, gyrating over his until, maddened, he pulled her on completely and stood up. Legs shaking, he fell against the wall to thrust into her, biting and growling at her neck.

"Yes! Loki, you're even better than I imagined…those nights alone when I fantasized about you…"

His eyes widened. "You fantasized about me?"

Natasha's eyelids descended in a glaze of lust. "Of course. You're like walking sex in a horned helmet, you know."

Loki paused, willing himself to hold back for a few more moments. It felt far too wonderful to stop. "And did you touch yourself when you pictured us together?"

"Of course I did. The thought of you always made me have the most delightful orgasms."

"Oh, Natasha." Breathless, Loki sank onto the floor with her still astride. "My Natasha. I – I never felt anything like this before. Ever."

Her response was to kiss him deeply, move slowly over his body, and when he rolled her onto her back to push himself in with long, steady strokes, each leading to a higher level of ecstasy, she wound her legs around his back, locked her ankles to hold him inside. "Me either," she gasped.

That little whisper brought him to the edge, slammed his body over the cliff they skirted and he felt a huge jet of hot semen rush out, pour inside her. She screamed and shook underneath him, lost in their final throes.

* * *

"I do not want you to telephone the man named Niall anymore," Loki demanded.

Natasha smirked. "No need. I just found my new toy."

He drank the wine in his glass and reached across her to put it on the small table by the bed. The sheets pooled at her waist as he bit one pink, coned breast, licked the other. "Natasha," he said in a mild voice, "I am _not_ a toy. You made the decision to play with fire today, and I will sear anyone who tries to get between us."

"Good." She picked up his glass, refilled it from the bottle, and drank from the same side he had touched. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," Loki replied. Firmly he replaced the wineglass back on the table and pulled Natasha back into his arms. She had set the trap, he considered, but soon she would find just how wild a creature was caught inside.


	2. Stupid Bloody Tuesday

**_NOTE - Good old-fashioned bodyswap with resulting smut. By Odin's Beard, this is the most cliched plot device yet and I give you my sincere apologies. However, the story grabbed me in the shower, wrote itself in my head, and here we are._**

* * *

The object, a sphere that seemed to rotate into itself thus creating what Natasha suspected was a one-sided figure (like Moebius strip or a Klein bottle) shimmered on the center of the conference table. Colors radiated down the sides, red and green and black and some other hue she had never seen before.

Behind her, the door swung open. Loki entered the room, and his presence made the object tilt, fall, roll off the table. Her impulse was to catch it; as she reached out Loki shouted "Stop!"

Several things happened at once.

His fingers covered hers.

They caught the object together.

There was a shift, and Natasha staggered.

And someone began to laugh, and it sounded like her.

Except it couldn't be her. She didn't find anything humorous in the situation, and she was disoriented, dizzy. The table seemed farther away than it had a moment earlier.

Strangest of all, she was looking at herself. The Black Widow, clutching the strange object, flung her head back to emit a shout of mirth. It seemed to consume her so much she fell against the table.

"What the hell?" Her words came out in a low register, silky and filled with dark promise. Natasha frowned, clenched one fist, and glared at her arm. She wore vambraces, leather covering her to the palms. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"This is just too delicious! You and I, my dear Black Widow, have switched bodies." Loki in the body of Black Widow, ran admiring hands over himself and looked at his reflection in the glass window. "Mmmmm. And what a body it is."

Scowling, Natasha shot out one arm and caught the female by one arm; she couldn't help being amazed at her new lithe, graceful strength. "Stop touching my goodies," she growled.

"You know, I am rather frightening when I threaten someone," the Loki Widow mused as he stared into her face. "You might try adding a sneer – it sometimes brings them round to their senses."

Natasha dropped him (her?) and snarled in disgust. "How the hell do we get back to the way we were?"

"No need to worry – of course you now control my magic."

A trickle of relief like water from a warm shower coursed over her. "Your magic - how could I forget? Tell me what to do."

The Loki Widow tapped one finger against his lips and circled her, considering. "It will be delicate. We will need to gather a great many herbs and powders - most of them can only be obtained in Varinheim. Once we are prepared – with the proper scrolls and magic inks as well, of course – you and I will sit in a prepared circle and chant for three days…"

"Three days!" Natasha shook her head. "There has to be a faster way."

The Loki Widow ran her nails over Natasha's chest. "Oh, there is, but I am certain you would not want to try it."

"Of course I do!" Natasha resisted the urge to punch herself in the throat. "Tell me."

"We will need to combine our bodies, naturally, with this little object next to us."

"Oh." Natasha sighed, propped one arm gingerly around the Loki Widow, and touched the strange thing. "Okay, tell me what to do next."

"Agent, I said we need to combine our bodies, not act as though we had just met at a diplomat's convention."

Natasha gaped at the Loki Widow, a dreadful realization breaking through. The Widow chuckled and ran her fingers through Natasha's now-black hair. "I always wondered what I looked like when you tricked me in my cell," he/she said. "Now I know."

* * *

Natasha chose her own apartment for the transfer back into her own body. She couldn't deny it was enjoyable being Loki – one stride seemed to take her halfway across the room, as though she wore a pair of fabled seven-league boots. Secretly she ogled her own body in the catsuit as he walked ahead of her. I do have a nice ass, she couldn't help thinking.

Inside the Loki Widow headed to the bedroom, but Natasha stopped her. "Oh, no," she snapped. "We do it right here, on the couch. I'm not letting you in my bed."

The Loki Widow shrugged. "As you wish - it is all the same to me. Tell me, are you looking forward to making love to yourself?"

She shuddered. "I was trying not to think about it too much, just close my eyes and get the job done. How about you?" She couldn't help wondering what he thought of having sex with his own body.

"Oh, I have done it before." When Natasha frowned, the Loki Widow went into another peal of laughter before adding, "One gets bored after a decade or two inside a dungeon."

"Okay, I really don't want to know one thing more about that." Natasha looked at her heavy armor. "Help me get all this off and let's get it over with."

"No. I am a woman now – I want to be prepared. Romanced." The Loki Widow winked, went on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to Natasha's mouth.

She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was with one of several women she had gone to bed with. After a moment she stopped, thrust the Widow aside, and shook her head. "No, it's not working. I need vodka – and plenty of it."

"Ah!" With a pleased expression, the Loki Widow sat on the sofa and crossed her legs provocatively. "Now you begin to make sense."

* * *

They began with shots, progressed to drinking straight out of the bottle. Natasha found Loki's body got drunk faster than hers did; soon she found the room wavered pleasantly in front of her and she began to giggle. It came out as a low-pitched "Ehehehehe."

The Loki Widow laughed as well; Natasha reflected her body had never enjoyed so much humor in one day. I look pretty good when I'm in a good mood, she thought.

"You think I look nice," the Loki Widow said. She reached up, felt for her zip, and drew it down to reveal bare stomach. "And I do look nice. I enjoy these." She palmed her lace-covered breasts, gasped and arched her back. "Agent Romanoff – you have such sensitive skin! I never knew." The Loki Widow moaned, slid one hand between her legs. "And you get excited so quickly – see what I mean."

Stunned and drunk, Natasha could only watch as the woman in front of her grasped her hand, eased it inside her own underwear. Loki was right – she was dripping. Something at the back of her mind took over, and she growled again, seized Loki, and kissed the Widow, biting her lip and nudging her teeth apart with an impetuous tongue. As Loki kissed her back, she felt something between her own legs – an unexpected length of skin and muscle rise, grow engorged with blood, press delightfully between the two bodies.

She couldn't help thrusting against Loki's hand as he/she palmed the crotch of her breeches. "Undress me," Natasha demanded.

Small, knowing hands pulled off the vambraces, unbuckled the tunic and breastplate, shucked off the long jacket. Natasha found herself (himself?) divested of clothes, and quickly she yanked the catsuit down Loki's body. It brought her in the region of Loki's pubis, and some unknown impulse made her sink her tongue there, flicker it with new knowledge against the Widow's clit.

Loki screamed, arched back again, sank her fingers in Natasha's black locks. "By the Norns and the Nine Realms! Come here, Natasha, and fuck me…"

She didn't have to say anything else. Natasha reared up, fire coursing through her blood. She positioned her new length against that wet, hot throbbing spot – oh, God, she couldn't help sinking inside.

The feeling was electric. Intoxicating. The Loki Widow screamed again, wound her legs around Natasha's back, and pulled her into a long kiss. Instantly they set up a fevered rhythm as though they had been lovers for years. Natasha knew how she liked it, and a desire to show off, to make Loki remember her as a damn good lay made her twist, vibrate, thrust, put her shoulders into it.

But he was doing the same thing to her. The Loki Widow moved her hips, clenching her slit around the long, hot member inside…

Natasha realized she was growing close already. No way. She would make the Widow come at least twice before she had her own release. Quickly she slipped out, licked the quivering breasts in front of her, lifted hips to tongue the Widow in the way she knew she liked it. Flickering. One finger inside. Another working her clit. Setting the perfect pressure – not too hard, not too soft. Again and again and again…

Loki screamed again, her pelvis shaking. Natasha tasted the flow, the juices, and grinned against the fluttering skin. Making a woman orgasm was always such a high.

The Loki Widow pulled her up with strong arms to look into her eyes. "Fuck me," Loki begged. With an almost audible slish Natasha slid inside, and Loki's eyes rolled back in her head. "Fuck me, Natasha - fuck me, Loki, fuck fuck fuck…"

Oh, God. It was too delicious. Natasha felt a growing tightness down there and knew something was about to happen.

And as she shouted and pushed into Loki, joined their mouths in a prolonged kiss, she felt her seed spurt out.

And with it, her being.

She – the secret part that was really her – left the Loki body and went into the Black Widow. For one moment she was both, shooting and shaking at the same time. Giving and receiving. Then she was back in her own body, shuddering with the last of her orgasm, with Loki between her thighs.

"That was – that was…" he gasped into her neck. He interrupted himself by kissing her shoulders, her ear, her collarbone.

"Oh, no." Firmly Natasha pushed him off, pulled up her catsuit, zipped it up. "We're not going for round two here, buddy. Out."

"What?" Loki stood, his mouth opening with outrage. "What are you talking about? We have already bedded each other – we might as well continue. Not to mention I now know all the pleasure points of your body. No one will be able to make love to you the way I will. No one."

"Out," she repeated, handing him a pile of metal and leather. She slammed the door on his furious face.

* * *

That episode was the catalyst for a determined pursuit, the likes of which she had never experienced before. If she went into the gym, Loki was there. In the cafeteria – Loki. On the street, going for a cup of coffee – Loki, with a knowing smirk, striding beside her. "Tell me, Agent Romanoff," he would purr, "do you still enjoy sharp teeth on the nape of your neck?"

"We are done," she insisted. "It happened, it's over, and I'm moving on."

"But it did not happen. We made love to ourselves, not each other. Except - just for one glorious moment I felt myself inside you, and then you ousted me rudely into the hall." This was accompanied by a hooded glance, just skimming her jaw and neck. Loki never actually broke horizon.

But he came close.

"Look." Natasha stopped in the middle of the street, looked up at his height. "There was a purpose to it. Now it's over – there's no reason for us to do it again." The alien object was back in SHIELD control – she had actually used tongs to carry it back to the conference room.

"But sometimes there need not be a Why. Sometimes pleasure is reason enough."

* * *

And that began a series of gifts. On Wednesday Natasha received a vase filled with amaryllis. On Thursday it was a glass sphere with a tiny fountain cascading over it. Friday was the figure of a dancer done in silver and blue. Saturday was a huge box swathed with ribbons and filled with chocolates.

"Okay, I get it," she said as she handed the sweets back to Loki. "Pleasurable things are their own raison d'etre – I understand what you're trying to say. But you and me - it's not going to happen."

Loki glowered, popped a chocolate in his mouth, and stalked off. "We will see about that," he threw back at her.

* * *

During meetings he watched her constantly. Whenever he caught her eye Loki instantly smirked and winked. In the hall she felt him behind her, one hand ghosting over her back. When she turned to confront him and tell him to knock it off he looked innocent, raising both arms to show he was blameless.

Exasperated, Natasha wrote him a terse email. "Leave me alone or I will move out of the building to another apartment."

It seemed to do the trick. Afterwards Loki kept to himself. The knowing looks, gifts, sly touches, constant flirtations – all stopped as though they had never happened.

* * *

Natasha told herself she was relieved. As she pulled on a pair of red heels for a formal dinner where she hoped to eye out a possible mark for an upcoming hit, she looked around her living room. Everything was neat, clean. The couch had been shampooed. The rug was vacuumed. The books, pictures, and the little blue and silver dancer were all dusted – immaculate. It was better that way, she insisted – her own private little life, with no god of mischief lounging on the cushions to smile lazily at her.

Yes, much better.

She grabbed her purse, a silver envelope holding nothing more than chapstick and a phone, and headed out. One of Tony's limos waited below, a long black car proclaiming decadent wealth.

For a moment, after all the ambushes, she expected to see Loki inside. The car, however, was empty – save for her and the driver.

During the drive she reviewed her notes, coded into her phone. She added some ideas, organized her plan, made certain every contingency was covered. It was just as neat and clean as her sparkling apartment.

* * *

The party was the same as a hundred others she had attended. The mark went down just as expected. Waiters circulated with tiny, exquisite appetizers and not enough alcohol, since it was Tuesday night, not the weekend. Stupid bloody Tuesday.

And her shoes pinched.

Information loaded in her phone, Natasha texted the driver to meet her at the front. He drew up, got out, opened the door.

Was she surprised to find the other rider in the back?

"Success?" Loki popped a bottle of champagne, poured a glass, and handed it her.

"Yes, but don't think…"

"I am not thinking. I am pouring, Agent Romanoff." He topped his glass, put the bottle in a holder, and touched his rim to hers.

Natasha drank thirstily. She was trying to ignore the feeling of relief sweeping over her; logic dictated she should have been angry. But her temper seemed to have spluttered out, extinguished by the amused glance of the being next to her, casually twirling his glass and propping one long arm along the back of the seat.

She held out her glass and he bent close as he refilled it. "Take a look," Loki said, leaning over her to point out of the window. There she saw a series of scaffolds for a construction project that had apparently just begun.

"What is it?"

"A hospital for the victims of my strike against Manhattan. It will provide care free of charge. I have decided to name it Romanoff Center."

Natasha, sitting in a circle of metal and leather, moved violently as though to shake him off her. "Okay – cut it out! I don't want to be wooed by you anymore."

"No?" Loki smiled. "But you like my arm around you – why shy away as though you were a frightened girl? You are not frightened, are you, agent?"

"Of course not," Natasha began stiffly.

"Of course not. And certainly you are brave enough to bear my touch on your hair, like this. Hair does not count – it is not like skin, after all. So it would be silly to protest when I feel your curls, so much like velvet against my fingers. Have some more champagne."

Natasha drank again, as much to ward him off as anything else. He couldn't stick his tongue down her throat while she was guzzling bubbles, she thought. "What kind of wine is this?" she demanded.

"Elderflower champagne – from Asgard. They brew it at the palace. Delicious, is it not?"

She had to agree. The drink was crisp and flowery, but not too sweet. It was also potent as a stiff shot of moonshine. "Delicious," she echoed.

"Yes, but not as delicious as many things I can name – those chocolates you refused, the kick of winning a battle, your mouth…" Loki's breath surged into hers as he kissed her.

"I said cut it out."

"But we have already done it now. And I must point out you kissed me back, Agent Romanoff." Loki kissed her again, swirling his tongue around hers in the way she particularly liked.

Oh God, Natasha thought confusedly. He knew every spot on her body already – since he himself had inhabited it. A steady thrum started between her legs, and she found she had one arm around his shoulders, a leg sliding between his.

Loki broke the kiss just as she started to really enjoy it. Staring intently at her, he reached inside his jacket, withdrew a thick sheaf of bills, and flung it at the driver. "Close the window and drive us around for an hour," he ordered. His green gaze flicked over her, and he amended it. "Two hours."

Natasha felt for the catch on her diamond bracelet, undid it, and tossed the jewels through the window just as it closed. "Make it three."


	3. Scratch Marks

_**NOTE - I have already written a few 'first time' pieces for this pairing, and the idea of what would go through Natasha's mind the next day scratched at me like Loki's nails until I had to write this piece.**_

* * *

As she got out of the shower and toweled off in front of the mirror, Natasha discovered the scratches ran down her back. There were bite-shaped bruises on her thighs and another under her left breast. She was also slightly sore, making skirts a better clothing option for a few days.

It all meant she couldn't deny what she had done the night before. There was no way to clean up the incident, send in the SHIELD team to sweep the bodies under the rug and rewrite history. No, there were only two people involved, and one wasn't even human.

As she got dressed, while she made tea and drank it, as she sat and read her email, the one question kept coming back to plague her: why, exactly, had she tumbled into bed with Loki?

Alcohol had been involved, but not enough to make it a drunken, sloppy mistake. They had bumped into each other in the elevator, she asked about the bottle in his hand, and he invited her to come and try it. Three hours later, they were in his bed, making each other scream in several different languages.

The stuff he offered her was strong, but not as strong as the vodka in her freezer. "It was a gift," he told her. "But I do not choose to drink alone."

Natasha discarded the whiskey as an excuse. Was it all his fault? Had he tricked her somehow, used magic to make her forget whom she was drinking with and get her catsuit onto his carpet?

Possibly, but she didn't think so. Their conversation had started as a series of jibes and thinly-veiled insults. He called her 'devoid of emotions.' She called him 'a spoiled brat', hardly a tension-filled flirtation. That exchange led to confessions, first offered as bitter fuel for the argument and finally as consolation. During the exchange she found they were more alike than she thought, both with an engineered past and the willingness to assassinate on the spot if the job demanded it.

It was just that they had such very different jobs.

Natasha finished her tea, shut her laptop, and put the cup in the sink. There was a full-day briefing to attend, and she was pretty certain that Loki would find a way to be there as well. Would he ignore her completely? Or sidle up to her, emit a long series of innuendoes and suggestions? She really hoped not. It would make an already long afternoon impossible.

* * *

Loki did neither of those things. As the lights went down and the PowerPoint presentation began, she relaxed and starting to transcribe notes into her phone for review later. It was only when she held up her phone camera to screen-cap an important slide that she realized he had materialized in the seat next to hers at some point.

Instantly a sensation like an electric shock went through her stomach. Natasha kept her head turned away, thoroughly disgusted with herself._ What was that, Romanov? Fangirl much?_

Even though she didn't look at him, Loki's presence was disturbing. Out of the corner of her vision she saw his lick his lips; other than that he didn't move.

Maybe that was the reason she allowed him to have her the night before. His tongue was always on view – when he laughed at something she said, during an argument when his words became impassioned, or when he was deep in thought. And then there were his hands – long and sensitive – fingers splayed on the table or on her hips. That memory made her breath hitch, and she shifted to cover the tiny sound.

It was too late, of course. Loki already heard it.

Their eyes met, and Natasha's stomach flipped again as she saw the spark in his expression. It wasn't sensual at all: not a glow of _'Aha, agent, now you are mine,'_ or _'I would have you in bed again this minute.'_

No. Loki's changing, expressive face revealed an almost patient expectancy, as though he merely waited for her ultimate rejection. As though he already knew she would tell him once was more than enough and it would never happen again.

That pissed her off. She refused to be so predictable, like a good girl gone wrong who had made a bad mistake and meant to move on with her life. What was she, a prom queen from the 1950's?

In the darkened room, Natasha stretched out one arm until her hand touched Loki's. Deliberately she looped her little finger through his before withdrawing. The kick of flirting undercover with a thorough villain made her skin prickle with desire.

And there it was – the answer to her own question. The thrum as her heartbeat revved up underlined everything she did between his sheets the night before. Loki was thoroughly unpredictable, and her divide between fear and lust when they lay pressed together was almost nonexistent. He could have killed her or kissed her at any second while she rode him, and she never knew which would happen next.

Loki didn't move for a long time after she withdrew her touch. Natasha took more notes, asked a pointed question that made the lecturer (a tech wizard from MIT) stumble on his response, formulated a way to modify his process to her specialized needs. The guy's answer started an extended series of comments from the other agents in the room, and she wished she had sent her query privately so the briefing could end and she could return to her apartment.

As the conversation around the assassin and trickster heated up, a tiny square of paper was pushed under her elbow. One spiky character was written on it: ?

Natasha considered. On one hand, she had a new garter belt and seamed stockings in her drawer she wanted to test-drive. His face when he saw her in the slinky lingerie would probably bring them both straight to the edge; alcohol might not even be needed. However, two evenings in a row would propel them out of the Probable Mistake category into Something Developing Into Something Else.

She turned the scrap over, wrote her one-word RSVP, and tucked it into Loki's fist.

His bright smile cut through the dark when he read it, like a razor to the neck.


	4. Thunderheads

_**NOTE - A certain commercial got my motor all revved up.**_

* * *

Thunderheads

* * *

Natasha's foot pressed on the accelerator as the dark clouds gathered overhead. "They are drawing closer," Loki said, twisting in his seat. The Mercedes behind them indeed sounded like it was gaining on them; a moment later shots whined across the passenger window.

"Son of a bitch," she shouted. As the Jaguar swung around the sharp curves hugging the mountainside, a low rumble of thunder sounded. "That rain better hold off for a few more minutes at least," she muttered, "or we're really screwed…" She stopped talking as she caught sight of Loki's face.

Mouth open, eyes bright with joy, he gasped as the speed increased. The road twisted in front of them, and she caught her lip in her teeth as he snicked one thumbnail up the inside of her legs. The pure silk felt delightful under his touch, and he slid a fingertip where her skirt rode up and the stocking curved over the swell of her sleek muscles. "I want to be inside you very badly, right now," he said.

"It is _so_ not the time right now… Loki! I need you to focus! Get your hand out of my cooch and grab your daggers. _Now."_

Loki shook the wicked-looking blade out of his sleeve, but he refused to withdraw the hand on her leg. Natasha drew her pistol, and without looking she fired over one shoulder. The rear window shattered, and Loki was able to flick his dagger at the woman driving the Mercedes. Its tires screeched and Natasha exclaimed, "Nice throw…" She cut herself off as the passenger managed to wedge herself behind the wheel."

"Now it is up to you." Loki had just learned how to work the camera on her phone, and he leaned back to take a picture. "Gods, Natasha. You look like a Valkyrie piloting a longboat. I have never desired anyone so much."

"You're turned on by this Jaguar, you big liar," she deadpanned. "Oh, crap!"

A series of quick turns came up, and the shots from behind them started again. As if on cue, the rain started to fall.

"Okay, fuck this." Natasha tapped the brakes, and the Jag jolted as the Mercedes hit them. She wrestled with the wheel as both cars slid on the road surface, already slick from the rain. One quick jog to the left hitched the Merc into the mountainside. "Do it!" she shouted.

Loki felt his breath hitch as he spun and flicked the second knife into the second woman's chest. He could just hear the satisfactory thunk as the chase car screeched, hit the mountain with a loud crash. Natasha wrenched the Jag back and forth, managed to get loose, and sped forward just as the Mercedes burst into flames.

He flung his head back and howled with victorious joy; it coursed through his blood like a frozen river breaking up after a season of black frost. "Glorious!" he exulted. Never had he ridden beside such a lovely, deadly warrior. His erection felt it would burst out of his breeches if she didn't release him soon.

"You sound unearthly when you do that," Natasha commented in a mild tone. "Maybe you could wait until we are out of a small, enclosed space next time before you howl like a wolf… Loki! I'm still driving!"

"And I am not stopping you," he hissed into her ear. "I merely want to touch your skin here, and here. See how it ripples when I run my hand over your body. Nothing wrong with that."

"You're distracting the driver," she said between her teeth. "And in case you didn't notice we are still on a mountain road with a sheer drop on one side."

"Am I so distracting? Oh, I am sorry." Loki stopped touching her thighs and bent to run his tongue over them instead. He heard more muffled curses, felt her raise her hips, and with a sense of regret and relief at the same time saw her slam on the brake.

Loki sat up. "Where are we? Have we arrived at an inn or tavern?"

"Scenic overlook," Natasha said briefly. With one motion she released herself from her seatbelt and swung one leg over his. "Move your seat back, Loki, to give us some more room."

"Yes, yes." It took the last of his reason and logic to find the control before he sank his teeth in her neck, plunged one hand in her hair and the other down the front of her shirt. At the same moment she unlaced his breeches with hurried movements, guided her hips over his to brush his leather with the silk of her soaked panties.

"We could be arrested for doing this, you know," she whispered. It only made him more desperate for her, and when she managed to push down his pants his stiffness sprang up. "Schwing," Natasha giggled.

"What does that mean…" Loki asked before she interrupted him, covered his mouth with hers, and he forgot what he wanted to ask. The only thing of any importance was the warm female in his arms, biting and licking him with mounting passion, meeting his desire with hers. When he ripped the silk between her legs and tossed the now-useless scrap away, she moaned and felt for him, balanced herself over his tip.

He was in savage mode; there was no way anything could get between them. Loki thrust upward and inside of her with one stroke. _By the Ravens of Yggdrasil!_ Had anything ever felt so warm, so wet? It was as though she had a mouth down there sucking him inside. He didn't want to stop.

"The speed got you so hot, didn't it?" Natasha murmured. "You're on fire, baby. You love the danger, don't you, of being so close to the edge. We could have gone off the side of the mountain, burst into flames…"

"Stop," he shouted. They both paused, trembling, so close to a release he could almost taste it. The thunder rumbled again, and the rain started in earnest, hitting the windows with violent gusts. Wind kicked up as well, and the car rocked with the gusts.

"We could still go over the edge," she whispered into his ear. "The wind is strong on the mountain, baby – it could take us both through that tiny little guardrail."

Loki shouted again, drove up between her legs and pulled her hips onto him as he pulsed and spent, shooting hot jets of seed inside Natasha. She flung her head back and fingered her clit, releasing soon after with a scream before collapsing onto his chest.

The Jaguar smelled like sex and gunsmoke; the rain gushed in through the broken window. Natasha climbed back into the driver's seat, shakily felt for the keys, and started the car.

"Is there an inn close by?" Loki asked.

She winked at him. "Why do you ask?"

"This car will turn into a vase before very long. And I want to mount you again properly, in a bed. With wine. And rope. And the camera in my phone device. And oil. And feathers. And those ballet boots you tried to hide from me inside your luggage."

He grinned as he watched her struggle between amusement and anger, between desire and the need to keep her eyes on the road. "Yes, there is a hotel in a few miles. But we'll be safe inside there once we get a room – no danger or imminent death, you know. Are you certain you won't be bored?"

"Agent." Loki lifted her fingers and kissed them in turn. "You are an assassin and I am a villain. There is always danger and imminent death between us."


	5. Ballet Boots

_**NOTE - I got a few requests for a follow-up to Thunderheads, and here it is.**_

* * *

The boots laced up to the knee and forced Natasha onto her toes. Loki spread her legs and tied both arms to the bedposts of the bed inside the mountain hotel. "How long are you going to keep me like this?" she asked.

"As long as it takes." Loki stood back; he thought she looked like a work of art, leg muscles taut as she balanced on the spike heels, power hidden in the slim lines of her arms. "Now, Agent. Time to play." He felt his feral senses prickle as he advanced, producing a wickedly sharp dagger from behind his back. She never flinched, merely raised one eyebrow as he sliced through one strap of her camisole, then the other, so the flimsy material fell to reveal the upright breasts, quivering as she sucked in her breath with excitement.

"I just bought that top," she complained.

"Too bad." Loki pulled her close with one impetuous hand on her waist and ground his hips against hers. As deadly as she was, she was tiny with it – just like the spider whose name she bore. However, the ballet boots brought her closer to his height, so he was able to rub the length of his prick against her, confined in the leather breeches he wore.

"How would _you _like it if I cut those pants off you? In fact, that's not a bad idea. I might just do that next time." Natasha's look was defiant, promising teeth and claws under the silk of her lovemaking.

"You would have to get out of those ropes first." Loki rubbed against her again before stepping back – after the hurried desperation in the car, he wanted to take his time. Draw it out. Make her wait – and make his own unruly member wait at the same time. Their eventual release would be all the more ecstatic.

He produced another loop of cord and began to tie a series of knots over her chest and down her stomach, creating a design that bound her and presented her body, both at once. Loki bent and nipped the pink and white flesh, suckled his way up her neck and jaw. "How long can you stand there like that?" he wondered.

"I've been practicing. I'm up to twenty minutes standing in these shoes, and we just used up five. You've got fifteen more minutes before I break out of your ropes and walk these spiked heels over your ass."

"You have been practicing? Without me?" Loki felt a flare of temper.

"Practicing_ for_ you, jackass."

He produced his dagger again and snipped one side of her panties so they drooped on one side, revealing the sweet swell of her backside. Loki growled as he slapped one smooth globe, drew her closer to tantalize his swollen crotch. "It had better be just for me, Agent." His teeth slid over her jaw, caught her bottom lip – so full, as though she had already been sucking him. Or as though they had kissed for hours.

Natasha shifted her weight from one boot to the other, made her bottom sway temptingly. "Don't get all jealous and angry. You know that pisses me off."

Loki trailed his fingers over the stockings she wore, the ruined thong, the garter belt pinching her flesh, the heavy breasts, to frame her face. "Not true. You love my anger," he declared.

"Do I?"

"Yes. You enjoy feeling out of control, not know what I might do next. For all you know, I could leave you for hours in those boots until your toes break while I hitch the ropes tighter and see how much your flesh can stand."

"Bastard."

"But look at how your body betrays you." He produced the tip of a peacock feather and stroked it over her velvet, shaved lips; the tip of his dick quivered as her cleft spread of its own accord, revealing the secret pink inside. The feather teased her, made her gasp as she grew slick, ready for anything he wanted. He wanted more – he always wanted more. Loki lifted her hips to relieve her toes for a moment, dripped oil down her slit so it rolled over the soft folds and down her thighs.

"Oh my." Natasha flung her head back and leaned on the ropes. "You utter villain – just wait until I have you in the ropes next time."

"Break for me, Natasha," he whispered.

"Never."

"Beg to have me between your legs." He followed the demand with another stroke of the feather.

"N-no."

He produced his dagger once more. "What should I cut through next?" he asked. Her eyes widened and followed as he trailed the blade down her chest, over her belly. With a quick motion he sliced the other side of her panties, allowed them to fall to the floor. Groaning, Loki fell to his knees and buried his face in her. She was sweet, tempting, like fruit. Like salt. Like wine.

She arched back, reared, moved her hips up and down as he licked and trailed his fingers over her nerve endings. And when he let go, stepped back to regard herl with arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, Natasha shifted in the boots, moving her weight from one to the other. "I want you," she muttered. "Now. Please."

At the plea Loki felt his already hard member strain against the tight leather. Her fifteen minutes ticked down in his mind, and he let it go just over the time limit before he cut her down with the razor-sharp dagger. She fell back, staggering in the high-heeled boots.

Loki caught Natasha and carried her to the bed, savaging her neck with his teeth. He tore at the laces of his breeches, releasing his erection ready for her. "Let me feel your heels on my back," he ordered.

Her legs clasped him, the spikes caressed his spine. One touched his tenderest spot, and he sucked in his breath. Desire rushed over him like hot water, and Loki plunged his tongue into her mouth, sank himself inside the heat of her wetness.

An instant later he screamed as a burning pain seared the skin of his shoulder. Natasha held a candle over the skin; she tilted it to allow the hot wax to pool and harden on his skin. "That's for offering to break my toes," she whispered.

"N-Natasha," he gasped.

"But you like it too," she pressed. "You love the way I never play by the rules. Who else keeps you guessing, Loki? Anyone? Ever?" The question was followed by another rush of the hot wax.

"No - never!" he shouted with the last of his breath. Her slit was so sweet, as though it had an extra set of lips on the inside, sucking and fucking him at the same time.

"Don't you dare come yet." Her gaze was direct, staring right into his eyes. "Keep fucking me. I want more."

"I – very well…" Loki scrambled to remember mathematical formulas, the way to position an astrolabe, the rotation of the stars the day he had met her. Anything to distract himself from the gathering heat in his crotch, the unbearable pleasure of the sensations her body gave him.

He seized the candle and held it over her skin, poured a thin trail of wax across her chest just above the décolletage. Added a stripe down her belly. Across her navel.

Natasha bucked and screamed, and he knew they were both close. In that instant, it would be possible to take her throat, snap her neck, and she wouldn't even know it – death and ecstasy arriving in one chaotic moment.

Her eyes held his. She could read the dark desires in his expression. "I can do the same thing to you," she said, and the thought of that – both killing the other at the same time – made him lose any shaky purchase he had on his control, forced him to rear back, to feel the explosion come from his spine and belly and prick – Hel, it seemed to come from every part of his body.

As she quivered and shouted his name.

As she grasped his hips to draw him deeper.

As the flickering candle illuminated the scene.

* * *

It wasn't often they arrived in that quiet headspace – just Loki and Natasha, skin to skin in bed. Usually she turned away, padded off to the bathroom, threatened to return to her apartment. But within the tiny room in the small mountain inn an unusual hush filled them both, and they simply lay in each other's arms, ragged breath fluttering up with the smoke from the candle.

As he unlaced her boots and massaged oil into the marked skin, slowly undid the lacework of knots down her chest, the memory of other lovers melted along with the slowly-burning candle. Hodur, for example – Loki had spun bright tales of the lad's beauty and sexual prowess that had gained him access to the young Aesir's trust. All fodder for mischief, of course. And Freya – long ago, to win a bet, he had talked her into bed so he could prove her faithless and create more chaos.

_What could I say_, he mused, _to this tiny female mortal who burns so brightly beside me?_

Because that was it, wasn't it? The reason for the threats and violence during his trysts with Natasha. Their blood-soaked language redirected them from the words they didn't want to speak or hear.

Natasha's eyes closed, not with avoidance but with weariness. Loki felt his own eyelids grow heavy, and he brushed his lips over hers in an unusually gentle gesture. "Only one motor car and several pairs of underthings," Loki murmured. "Our destruction was not too overwhelming this night."

"And two corpses," she reminded him.

"Neither of which were ours, so they do not count. And my breeches are still intact, by the by."

Natasha nuzzled his neck. "Fuck off. Just wait until next time."

Outside the wind and rain increased. Loki watched the candle burn and drifted into a new, darker Void: a willing victim of the girl locked in his arms.


	6. Dark and Bright

_**NOTE - Loki's version of Scratch Marks, and his 'morning after' thoughts.**_

* * *

**Dark and Bright**

* * *

That kiss, now. Loki had embraced many creatures: Aesir, Vanir, dryads, even a Jotun or two; the act was a momentary fingerpost on the road to seduction. Furthermore, when the Widow sat on his couch, accepted the drink called whiskey (served in the mugs Thor had given him for coffee – he had nothing else) and started to argue with him, a kiss was the very last thing on his mind. And he would have wagered all of Fandral's hacksilver it was the last on Natasha's, especially when their bickering turned into an all-out fight.

At one point he shouted something about his past. "Everyone expects the worst from me! It is always Thor who gleams with possibility…"

"At least you have a brother," Natasha interrupted coolly. "My family died in a fire before I was sent to the organization that made me what I am today."

Of course he already knew her history, but it made him pause. Gods forbid he be anything like the heartless, soulless, emotionless female drinking his liquor. And drinking it handily at that, with a flick of her wrist belying her experience with strong brew. "He is not my brother," Loki began, but she struck in again.

"Aren't you tired of saying that over and over again? Because I'm pretty sick of hearing it, if you want to know the truth. I get that you have a shitty background – so do I, as a matter of fact – but at some point you're going to have to move on. Get over it. Find something else to complain about."

"Why should I? It is part of who I am." Loki finished his drink and poured himself another; after a moment he offered the bottle to the redhead at his side. She accepted it with a grin that made him privately reassess her. Could anyone with that glorious a face be truly emotionless?

"Because that's working out so well for you," she added with a snort as she tossed back the whiskey. "I had to undergo physical engineering which would make you faint."

"I was tortured by the Other."

"Torture," she scoffed. "That's routine in my job."

Loki considered her for a moment as she sat on the old couch he had been given, holding the coffee mug against her chest. "It has been difficult to learn of some of the deaths," he said in a low voice. He had no idea where that confession came from – it was something he had not even allowed himself to think, let alone speak.

She leaned forward, her knees spread slightly and her hands clasped around the mug. "Actually, I do understand that. My husband, Ivan, the others from the Red Room program – I've had to outlive them. After a while I had to develop a certain immunity to sadness. Many think I am cold because of it, but in reality it's just part of self-preservation."

Slowly he nodded. "Yes. Shutting part of yourself off, like closing a wing of a large house to avoid the memories within – or because you cannot afford to heat it any longer."

"Exactly."

"Do you think doing so allows that portion to cave in, weaken the entire structure? After many years, say?" Loki didn't know if it was the alcohol, but the conversation was more interesting than any he could remember.

"It depends where the damage lies. If it is load-bearing, then of course it could create a domino effect – a series of further collapses spreading throughout the house." She grinned at him again. "But we are comparing mental activity to actual physics, when the two are quite different. Minds are not subject to gravity or constancy of motion."

He felt his own mouth spread in a delighted smile. "Gravity, perhaps not. But mental constancy of motion seems to make sense. Once a certain idea takes hold, it can be difficult to turn away from the current pursuit."

Natasha's green eyes met and held his. "Well said. I'll allow there _are_ mental physics – although I would hate to allow a figment of my imagination hold such sway over me."

"Figment, yes. However, suppose the idea is real? True? Something you cannot avoid?"

Her head tilted with curiosity; when was the last time a woman listened to his ramblings with so much interest? "Example," she demanded.

Loki shrugged. "I suppose – love, for instance." As soon as the word left his lips, he wanted to reclaim it - wished he had said _hatred_ instead. Natasha had once renounced the idea of love to him, but there had been four inches of glass between them at the time.

Unhurried, she drank the last of the whiskey in her glass and put it on the table before rising. "It's getting late," she said. "I have a day-long meeting tomorrow…"

"Not the most original excuse." Loki got up with her, looked down into her eyes. The rest of the room seemed to darken in contrast to the flame of her hair, and he realized with a flicker of something like fear he was about to make a connection. With a mortal. And an enemy, at that.

Before he could reconsider, she reached up, looped slender fingers around the back of his neck, and pressed a kiss to his mouth. "Thank you for the whiskey and the conversation," she said gravely.

He couldn't help gasping at her touch. Loki stepped closer, framed her face with his hands, and kissed her back. _Oh, delicious,_ he thought. Those soft, full lips were even tastier in reality than what he had dreamed…

But Loki wanted more. He always wanted more.

Wondering, he licked her bottom lip. Tasted her skin. Teeth. And tongue, as she licked him back.

_So mortals do that too!_ The room seemed to whirl around him, and he wrapped his arms around her so he wouldn't stagger or go off-balance with the strange sensation overtaking him. Her mouth moved against his, her strong arms wrapped around his body, one leg stepped between his to bring her even closer. Loki couldn't stop a tiny whimper from his throat, and an answering whimper came from the beautiful assassin kissing him.

He knew she could feel his arousal. Gods, it had been too long since he had held someone so sweetly, the kiss going on longer than he had dared to hope. If he moved, she might break away, escape, repeat the ridiculous excuse about a meeting – but he couldn't last much longer. Loki needed her between his sheets that moment.

Natasha did move back, and his sigh was of disappointment. It was replaced with a surge of desire an instant later as she jerked her head in the direction of his bedroom.

* * *

During the meeting the following day while he watched Natasha take notes, Loki recalled their movements in his bed the night before – how she alternated between being generous and demanding, her gyrations on top of him, the wild curls and her bright face among his pillows as he pleasured her. He wanted her again, wanted to thrust inside her tiny, firm body until she screamed his name for him once more.

But he wanted to continue their conversation as well. Her mind was as interesting as her physique; he wanted to hear more about her past, learn her opinions – oh, Hel, on anything. Maybe he just wanted to hear her voice, so intelligent and matter-of-fact. And the way it got breathy when they pressed together on his narrow mattress.

Still, he couldn't evade the fact that he was the bitterest villain in this or any other realm. If he asked Natasha to spend more time with him, her answer would be No. He knew it. He was no longer a prince – he lived in a small set of rooms with ridiculous furniture he had been given. He could give her neither riches nor power – not even security. Why would she ever want to be with him again?

Next to him in the dark meeting room, her breath hitched in her throat. And at that tiny sound he felt a flood of hope, but when he turned to meet her eyes he filled his expression with the despair he felt a moment earlier. He knew it would call to the Valkyrie in her soul and make her want to do the exact opposite of what was expected of her.

An eternal moment passed before he felt her arm reach out, felt her little finger link through his.

Probably it was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced in his life, and he had to concentrate on withholding his physical excitement, right there in front of her and all the other agents. Thank the gods it was so dark in the room!

Natasha released him, leaving his nerves tingling, and sat back to ask a question. Loki felt in his pocket and produced a card presented to him by a female he had met in a tavern or 'club'. At the time the woman told him to call her; he had held onto the number as a mark of one tiny victory.

He ripped off a piece of the card and wrote one question mark on it. As Natasha asked a question of her own to the absurd youth running the meeting he pushed the paper under her hand and sat back to observe her comment, intelligent and penetrating, as always. Natasha's query sparked a series of discussions within the room; he ignored the chatter as he waited for her response.

The scrap was tucked back into his fist, and quickly he opened it. When he saw what she had written, Loki couldn't hold back his smile of triumph.

He left the meeting when it came to an end after what seemed an eternity, following Natasha so he could admire her backside. Beside the door there was a receptacle meant for collecting the scraps known as 'trash'.

Loki tossed the rest of the card with the woman's number inside. He no longer wanted or needed it.


	7. Jewel

_**NOTE - I was in a fluffy mood today and couldn't resist writing this.**_

* * *

**Jewel**

* * *

"Let's go for a walk. Maybe I'll buy you a drink if you're somewhat reasonable." Without looking to see whether Loki followed or not, Natasha grabbed a jacket and, thrusting one arm into a sleeve, headed to the door.

Of course he followed; he always did, although he had no idea why he wanted to be with her so much. Perhaps it was because there was no one else – he was alone in that realm as he was in every other, to be honest. Maybe it was her conversation, still surprising him with her insight into the subjects they discussed lounging in her bed or on his uncomfortable couch, passing a bottle of wine back and forth. And there was the sex, of course – better than he had ever expected. No – wild enough to 'blow his mind', to use a Midgard phrase Natasha had taught. "The way you fuck me blows my mind," she sighed the night before, after the third time he had her against the wall.

Yes. She blew his mind.

"Why so serious?" Natasha bumped his side and grinned up at him. He looked down at her, so small beside him, yet so strong at the same time. That blew his mind too – she was like a delicate doll, a kitten, a slender blossom…

Loki stopped, breathless, and pressed one hand to the graffiti-covered wall beside them. Where had that rush of sentiment come from? He was acting entirely unlike himself.

"Woah – you okay? Maybe we should head back." Natasha stopped next to him, felt his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Bruce still isn't certain of the effects of our atmosphere on your body, especially considering how screwed up our air is."

He didn't want to look weak in front of her, nor did he want to talk about his thoughts. "The air smells fine to me," Loki declared.

She pulled him closer so she could hiss in a stage whisper, "I think that's hotdogs. Actually, I'm hungry. Want one?"

Hotdogs. Loki accepted the paper dish with what looked like a meat tube inside cotton wool and yellow paint squirted over the whole in a zig-zag pattern. Natasha put a few dollars into the vendor's fingerless glove and took a bite, pulling Loki behind her.

"The bar's across the corner. Let's go have a few drinks before you screw my brains out. Deal?" She added a broad wink.

He followed, as he always did.

And that was another thing. Once he had been a prince, slept in a bed the size of the taproom where they now sat. Entire rooms had been at his disposal – libraries, salons, balconies, dressing closets filled with rows of exquisite garments. Gold slid through his fingers with wanton abandon as he gambled, purchased gifts for current love-interests, tossed it to cheering crowds in Asgard to make himself feel beloved.

Now he did not even own the coins to purchase hotdogs.

"Why_ are_ you so quiet tonight?" Natasha asked. "If you want to go back and be by yourself, dude, all you have to do is tell me. I don't mind."

"No," he said quickly, grasping her arm tightly as though she might dart off in an instant.

"Okay, okay – I'm not going anywhere. Do you want to talk? Or just sit here and drink? Like I said, I don't really care."

Loki eyed her as he took a long swallow from the thick glass in front of him. "I cannot buy you things," he admitted at last. "Once I could have offered you silk gowns, fine horses, lines of servants, jewels you could not even imagine. Now, I have nothing."

"Ohhhh." An expression of comprehension came over her face. "Yeah, I get that. And I know it's no use telling you I don't want any of that junk – where the hell would I put a horse in New York, for crying out loud? As for jewels, I'm just not into bling."

"Natasha, I could not even purchase the hotdog." Loki indicated his untouched meat tube.

She leaned close to him in the dark atmosphere of the bar. "I promise you that your penis will not fall off because you can't buy me a snack."

The bartender lurched towards them. "Yuh can't bring outside food in here, fer fuck's sake."

Loki felt anger overwhelm him like a boiling wave, but Natasha pushed him back onto his barstool as she waved a few notes at the man. "Sorry – I just really craved a good New York hotdog. Here, get us another round, and keep the change."

* * *

The desire for money started to overwhelm him. Loki looked around his tiny apartment furnished with broken things the others no longer wanted, and the anger steamed inside him again.

Two arms wrapped around him from behind. "Stop it," Natasha said. "I can see you're all – you. Stop being so _you_, this minute."

"This living place is disgusting!" He waved at the hard couch, pointed in the direction of the tiny bed. "Once I ate from dishes made of pearls and silver…"

"It _is_ a shitty apartment. I'll grant you that." Natasha turned him around, pulled him down for a long kiss. "Getting frustrated? Need a job?"

The thought of having to work for money infuriated Loki, but he supposed there was no other choice. "I suppose a job would be – not too horrible. I could survive. Maybe."

"Okay. I'll talk to Fury." She pulled him in for another kiss. "Meanwhile, how about this job?"

* * *

Asgard consultant. That was the title given to him, along with a shabby laptop and the position of searching news and internet trends for items which seemed familiar or out of place. Instantly Loki figured out a way to stream several social mediums at once while scanning news channels at the same time. The position was incredibly tedious, but after several weeks he received his first paycheck.

Money in hand, Loki went shopping. A few hours later he arrived at Natasha's apartment, two paper dishes in one hand and an overflowing bag in the other.

As soon as she opened the door he thrust the dishes at her. "Here are hotdogs," he announced.

"Oh! Hey, thanks." Natasha took the dishes and, not certain of what to do with them, put the food on her coffee table.

"Also, a jewel." Loki rooted in his carrier bag and produced a candy necklace. "And chocolates. And a garment." He had purchased everything from vendors on the street.

She took the necklace, the Hershey's bars, and the I Heart New York sweatshirt from him. For a long time there was silence, and he wondered what he had done wrong.

Finally she dropped all the items on the floor and jumped into his arms. "Thanks. You don't have to buy me anything, but thanks." It was followed by a long, deep kiss.

"And I shall purchase our drinks this evening," he announced grandly.

"And I'll wear my new shirt."

"And your jewel?"

Natasha climbed down from his hips, picked up the candy necklace, slid it over her head, and offered him a sugar disc to crunch. "And my jewel."


	8. Gift

_**NOTE - Don't ask me why I can't get this storyline out of my head: Loki trying to negotiate the trials of being without money for the first time in his very long life.**_

* * *

**Gift**

* * *

"I'm very sorry, sir. Your card has been declined."

Loki's jaw dropped as the officious little fool handed him back the rectangle. "What does that mean?" he demanded.

"Usually that you have exceeded your credit limit. If I were you, sir, I should call the company and ask customer service – they will sort it out in no time."

Watching as the object he had chosen for Natasha was plucked from his hands and stored back under the glass counter, Loki considered crushing the man's head and eviscerating the other people in the shop. Just as quickly he discarded that notion – the Fury fellow had shouted at him for smashing a parking meter the week prior. Probably killing mortals would be almost as bad.

* * *

As usual, he had one source for information. "What has happened with this object?" he shouted, throwing the card onto Natasha's lap.

"Oh. Well, let's find out." Natasha dialed a number she found on the back of the card, punched in some numbers, and waited. After a few minutes she handed the card back to Loki. "It's simple – you haven't paid your bill in three months. Haven't they tried to call you?"

"Pay? Bill? What does it all mean? And I suppose I got some person on the other end of this phone device bleating about numbers, but she was tedious and made no sense. I…"

"Hung up on her. You hung up, didn't you?" She regarded him thoughtfully. "Okay, open that laptop of yours. Let's fix this problem."

A long series of searches led to the answer: Loki was, once again, penniless. Although SHIELD paid him for his work as 'Asgard Consultant', he spent his salary and didn't bother to budget. "What did you buy at the Crystal Rocke Shoppe?" Natasha asked, perusing his credit card bill.

"I admired a snow globe in the window," Loki sulked.

"And Le Fourmier's?"

"They carry that Russian caviar you like."

"How about Breton's? Holy shit, they're on Fifth Avenue."

"Their white shirts are acceptable."

She spread her hands in dismay. "Well, you simply have to stop spending money. If you take the next few paychecks, pay down your credit card debt, and bank a few bucks, you should be able to start saving for stuff you want. _Really_ want, not just purchase on impulse."

"Never mind." Loki snatched his laptop and his card before slamming his way out of her apartment. All at once he was desperately tired of being on Midgard– the artificial food, the strange smells, the odd means of transport, and above all, his dreadful living quarters.

He wanted to be back in Asgard in his huge suite of rooms in the Palace. Wanted to feel fur blankets against his face, smell cherry blossoms in the snow, eat eleven course banquets delivered to him by bowing servants instead of surly waiters.

And he wanted to buy that gift for Natasha.

In his bedroom, he went at once to the crevice laughably called a closet and dug among his things. On the top shelf he found a box; inside was a chain made of pure Ljosalfar gold mined in Alfheim. Dragon opals were set into each link to create a swirl representing Jokull's defeat of Bui. Loki was tempted to sell it in one of the plentiful pawn shops within the village of Manhattan so he could pay off the rectangle of credit, flash money at that dreadful little fool in the shop, buy Natasha her present, take her dancing and out to dinner.

"Hey." Her soft voice made him start, nearly drop the chain in his hands. "Holy shit!" she added. "Is that real?"

"I was thinking of selling it," Loki mumbled. "But I could not – that is – it…" The truth was the chain itself had been a gift from Frigga, centuries earlier.

Cautiously she reached out and touched the heavy gold links. "Loki, you can't sell this! It looks extremely valuable – it really should be kept in a bank." She grasped his chin with one hand, forced him to look at her. "And more than that – it's personal, isn't it? It must be, if you brought it here all the way from Asgard."

Loki shook his head, not wanting to say where he had gotten the chain. She didn't press him, simply wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. "You know what? You interest me," she said. "In fact, you have more layers than I ever thought possible. And what on earth did you want to buy so badly that you considered selling such a magical thing?"

He didn't want to answer that question, either.

"If it was what I think it was, then don't you dare sell that chain. You and I are going to figure out your finances, and before you know it you will have enough to get what you want."

He wrapped his arms around her, gold and opals dripping from one fist. "Very well," he agreed. "However, since you are here…"

* * *

In his narrow bed, Natasha took off her shirt, unhooked her bra, and lay back. "Now, what are you going to do to me?" she asked.

Carefully Loki laid the chain over her throat. The dragon opals looked very bright against her red curls, the gold chain was perfect against her skin. "This was once worn by the ruler of the nine realms."

"And now it's decking out the throat of a tired, worn-out assassin. What do you think of that?"

"A vast improvement." He leaned over her, kissed her eyelids, bit her earlobe, started to pull off her jeans. "I want to see you in nothing but gold and gems, Natasha."

"I told you I'm not one for bling…"

"This is not 'bling'. It is the diadem of the Enchanted Forest."

"Oh! I like that."

"I cannot actually…" Loki felt he had hit an awkward point.

"…Give it to me? I should think not. But you can make love to me while I wear it, can't you?"

"Oh, yes." He grinned, amazed afresh at how quickly she caught his mood. "Yes, I can definitely do that."

"Good." Natasha opened his breeches – she called them pants – and pulled them down his thighs. "Come here, you sexy man."

As usual, he was ready for it. Loki knelt, one leg on either side of her hips, and sucked the skin above and below the priceless opals. She arched back, just as prepared as he was – hot, wet, breathless.

Teeth on her neck. Lips on her lips. Tongue in her mouth, and after an unknown time of ecstatic loveplay, his prick inside her stunning body. There on the tiny mattress among chipped furniture and peeling paint, Natasha wore the gems from another realm with the insouciance of an empress.


	9. Rent

**Rent**

* * *

"Loki needs a raise." Natasha and the god of mischief stood side by side in Fury's office; at her words the commander frowned and stabbed his computer screen.

"You are kidding me, right? Look at this - the council already wants to shut down several departments. They say the taxpayers shouldn't bear the burden of supporting a group of high-flying individuals with delusions of grandeur…"

"Excuse me." Natasha produced a neat manila folder, opened it, and placed it on the desk. "I've tracked Loki's work for several weeks. He took down two drug rings, preempted a scandal in Bulgaria, and made several operatives obsolete. His work – done on an out-of-date laptop from his apartment – has saved SHIELD six figures, if not seven, and currently he's making two dollars above minimum wage. You can afford to give him a raise."

Fury looked over the papers. Loki kept quiet; Natasha had told him to keep his mouth shut for once in his life, and although he found it extremely difficult he didn't say a word.

"I don't know about this…" Fury said.

"No? Well, allow me to explain it this way. Suppose Loki goes freelance and work on commission instead? You can pay him four percent of what he recoups for the agency, let's say. That means you and SHIELD owe him over thirty thousand dollars for the past few months. What will it be by year's end, Nick? Want to explain away that little bill to the taxpayers?"

"I can do the math, Agent Romanoff." Fury glared at her over the edge of the folder before he slapped it down on the desk. "Very well, I'll give him a raise. Now, get the hell out of my office, both of you."

* * *

To celebrate, Loki and Natasha went to a tiny Italian restaurant. After the first bite of mushroom ravioli, Loki began to see that not all food on Midgard tasted like sawdust; the dish was delicious, and the crusty bread was the most exquisite he had ever eaten.

"And try the wine," Natasha insisted, pouring them both a glass. "Mmmm."

"Mmmm," Loki echoed, eyeing her cleavage in the black dress she wore. "Agent, my mouth is watering."

She laughed and leaned forward to run one fingernail up the inseam of his breeches. "I was talking about the meal."

"And so was I. By the end of the evening I plan on eating every bite." Loki grinned and forked another ravioli, certain he would eat the pasta, the bread, and have his head between the thighs of the exciting woman sitting opposite him before midnight. Her bright face and his new, exalted salary made him feel almost like a prince again.

* * *

Their mood was dashed as soon as they reached Loki's apartment. A long envelope under his door contained a bill: "Now that you are earning a living salary," the letter read, "the taxpayers no longer need to support you. Therefore your rent will be paid monthly in the amount of…"

Natasha threw her purse across the room when she heard the amount. "Bull!" she shouted. "For this piece of crap apartment? What a bunch of horseshit!"

"I do not understand." Loki had never paid to live anywhere. His rooms at the palace were – well, they were his home. Handing money over to stay somewhere was unthinkable.

"It negates your salary raise!" Natasha plunked down on his sofa, the full skirt of her dress fluttering from her rage and betraying the tops of her gartered stockings. "Now you'll be earning even less than before after you pay this ridiculous rent."

"What?" Loki felt the room turn red in front of him. "Hand over gold to live in this squalor? I – I will not! I will stop doing the job this instant. It bores me utterly in any case. Instead, I can steal money on the laptop device. There are several options I have found for reaping funds: online gambling as well as several vulnerable businesses - it will be far more interesting in any case."

"No, no, no." Natasha stood, strode up to him, and grabbed the collar of his white shirt. "Don't even say that! It will make you go backwards after all our hard work."

Loki frowned. He couldn't see anything wrong with his plan. They had tried the honest, tedious way, and it hadn't worked. Now it was time to cheat a little and propel his finances into the level they should be. Mentally he listed the things he wanted: a voyage called Cruise, bottles of champagne, the caviar Natasha enjoyed, more of Breton's white shirts… "I shall be fine," he announced. "You have helped me in the past, but now it is time I take over my own affairs."

Natasha opened her mouth, shut it again, closed her eyes. "God help me. I'm about to do something really dumb."

He cupped her face, tilted it up to his so he could search her expression. "What do you mean? Dumb - what does that mean? Sometimes I do not understand your words at all. But if you are worried I can promise you this - I will not be caught."

"No, I'm not talking about that. Loki, do you want to move into my apartment? Do you want to get the hell out of this pit and move in with me?"

* * *

Once he grasped her meaning, Loki vacillated from joy to bewilderment. "But why?" he asked for the twentieth time. "You are independent. You are strong. You do not need anyone else to survive."

"It's not that. Frankly, I'm pissed at their little rent stunt. Move in with me, you can help with _my_ rent instead, and you'll still have your raise. Not a huge one, but enough to buy a really nice dinner once in a while. And we'll tell the council to stick this rental suckpile up their asses."

"Natasha." He didn't have anything else to say. Instead he pulled her onto his lap where they sat side by side on his old sofa and looked around the room. "Truthfully I would be happy to leave this place."

"Yeah, I don't blame you. It reeks of depression and despair. I never thought you could _smell_ a color, but this place smells beige, if you get me. Beige and gray." She made a face.

He considered the place where she lived – larger, with new furniture and fresh paint. Still… "Probably you will get angry at me. No, that is not the word – 'pissed'. You will be pissed at me before long."

"That goes without saying. I'm going to make you do chores, you know." Natasha kicked the pile of plates he left on the floor; he hadn't bothered to clean up after breakfast and several snacks. "You'll probably get pissed at me first."

Already his erection was pressing up against her sweet backside at the very thought. Waking up in her bed every morning, sleeping with his arms around her each night, just looking up at any given moment to see her in a shared place...

"Anger is a powerful aphrodisiac for me, agent," he announced, sliding a hand under the garter strap of one stocking.


	10. Mischief

**Mischief**

* * *

"I'm only gone until next Tuesday." Natasha fixed her gloves and checked her belt for the last time.

Even though he had spent inside her twenty minutes earlier - a most powerful and gratifying release - Loki felt faint from desire. He thought there was no vision more sultry than the Black Widow in her catsuit. "Maybe we can reenact our first meeting," he said, pulling her close to kiss the nape of her neck.

"Hm. I think it's time we move forward instead." Natasha pulled him into a deep kiss. "Okay, just a short list of rules before I go."

"Rules!" Loki was outraged.

"You heard me. Don't eat the cake in the freezer – I'm saving it. Don't go into my lingerie drawer. And do not, whatever you do, go to Tony Stark's for poker night."

"Oh." He didn't want to do any of those things. "Is that all?"

"Yup, that's it." Natasha kissed him again, exclaimed at the time, and breezed out of the apartment.

* * *

Loki was still trying to acclimate to the new space. Natasha's apartment had a large living room, a tiny dining nook with a proper table, one claw-footed tub in a relatively sumptuous bathroom, and even a balcony where she grew some half-hearted plants in pots. After moving out of his dingy little rooms he enjoyed the cleanliness, the order, the room to spread out. With her gone he had even more space – and he could put his feet up on the sofa without being shouted at.

That lasted until two in the morning. He woke up reaching for her as usual and encountered nothing but sheets. Emerging from a horrifying dream, for one soul-freezing moment Loki thought a bandaged corpse lay next to him. He shot out of the bed and turned on the lamps to reassure himself all was well.

An hour later, the same thing happened. And thirty minutes after that. Finally he took the eiderdown, sat in the middle of the floor, and piled the blanket around him. The truth was he had grown accustomed to another body next to his.

* * *

Lack of slumber made him grumpy the next day. Loki yawned over his stultifying job; when lunchtime came he lurched to the refrigerator and eyed the choices. It was then he remembered the forbidden cake.

Slowly he opened the freezer door. He saw it was his favorite kind, with chocolate malted milk balls around the edge.

Resolutely he closed the door, turned back to the laptop. An hour's worth of work seemed to take an age; how he ended up in front of the freezer again he didn't know.

"One of the milk balls," Loki thought. "She will never notice." He hooked his finger inside the box, withdrew the candy, and crunched it.

There seemed to be a wrinkle in time, and when he came to his senses he found he had eaten a quarter of the cake.

* * *

With one rule broken, Loki thought he might as well break them all. It had always been his logic – if he was going to be in trouble anyway, he should maximize his fun before getting caught. That in mind, he padded to the lingerie drawer, where an envelope lay with the words DO NOT TOUCH written in red on the front. It was filled with several of the green papers known as Twenties.

Loki sniffed. He had no need of them without Natasha – he would feel ridiculous going to dinner on his own. No, there was nothing he could do with the cash unless he took the money and went to the Stark fellow's place to gamble – but that was silly. He had not even been invited.

* * *

"Hell yeah there's a game on!" Tony, a cigar in one corner of his mouth, drew Loki inside, put one arm around his shoulders, and gestured to a man at the bar. "Make my friend here a drink, wouldja? A stiff one. Get it? Stiff one? Okay, come and join the usual suspects."

Bruce, Steve, and a few others Loki didn't recognize sat around a table, cards fanned out in their hands. He watched the play for a few rounds before announcing he was ready to join in.

* * *

Either the mischief or the alcohol seemed to do the trick. That night he slept soundly – still in the middle of the floor with only the eiderdown for company.

It wasn't until the following morning that he remembered Natasha would be home shortly. Loki looked around in desperation, wishing more than ever for his magic. Haphazardly he picked up a few of the items which seemed to have displaced themselves: books, more plates, glasses, and a pair of heavy rubber boots that appeared to strap over the shoulders.

_Rubber boots! What the Hel…?! _And where were his clothes from the night before?

Plates went in the sink. Books were pitched under the tiny dining room table. Loki stacked the glasses in the dishwasher, although it wouldn't close when he tried; finally he put them in the sink as well. As for the boots, he flung them out on the balcony behind one of the plants.

That left the cake.

He felt his stomach sink as he looked at the box in the freezer and found there was one piece left. He should just eat it, he considered, and claim thieves had broken in. Probably there were many cake thieves on Midgard.

And the lingerie drawer – the money was gone. How had he managed to lose it all in one night?

The lock rattled, and Loki groaned. "Hey," Natasha called. "You decent?"

He sidled out of the kitchen, and instantly her face bunched with amusement. "Good day," he said stiffly, his mind whirling with schemes for explaining away all his mischief.

"You look like you've been up to no good." Natasha fisted his collar, drew him down for a long kiss.

Loki thought maybe if he got her into bed perhaps she wouldn't notice the transgressions; he responded to the kiss willingly, although he couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling she was going to find out sooner rather than later.

Natasha pushed him away and held him at arm's length. "Yup, definitely up to no good, you bad boy. What did you do?"

Sweat broke out on his forehead. "Do? Nothing, beautiful lady. I am merely happy to see you beyond all telling."

"Nuh-uh. You never call me 'beautiful lady'. Out with it before your punishment gets worse."

_Punishment!_ Loki swallowed. "Natasha, I ate your cake."

"Mmhm. What else?"

"I went in your lingerie drawer."

"And?"

"And I played poker with Tony."

Natasha whipped out her Widow's Line, flourished it under his nose. "So basically you broke all three of my rules."

He looked sideways at the line. "What are you going to do with that?"

She crooked one finger. "Come and find out."

* * *

Natasha knew several ways of tying him down, Loki discovered. He lay with his forearms bound together, the line criss-crossing over his chest and down across his thighs. "I could tie up your hard-on like a salami," she said casually as she stroked his dick, "but I have plans for that part."

"Plans," Loki breathed. "And what are those?" He couldn't remember the last time he felt so lusty.

She ran one fingernail down his length. "Oh, you'll see in time." With one motion she unzipped her catsuit and undid her brassiere, thus allowing those generous breasts to bob free and deliberately flaunted them in front of his face. Just too far for him to lick or nip, of course.

"I am sorry," he began.

"I know you are." Natasha left him there on the bed and started to unpack, deliberately smoothing out each garment before consigning it to the laundry or a drawer. Her movements displayed her taut belly and pink nipples, flashing out of her suit as though by accident.

"Natasha," he moaned.

"The way you say my name," she replied. "It almost makes me want to peel off this catsuit completely, touch myself until it's all wet down there, climb on top of you, let you feel how she's gushing. _Almost._"

Loki swallowed. "Your breasts – they are as lovely as the lilies of Vanaheim. And your lips, sweeter than any wine I have been offered, ever, including the rare vintage stolen from Idunn, skin soft as the linen gracing the Valkyries themselves…"

"That line of bullshit's not working for me. Sorry, dude." Natasha started to zip up her catsuit.

"I could not sleep!" Loki shouted.

She paused. "What?"

"Without you, I mean to say." His voice faltered, became a whisper. "Without you in our bed, I had to take the blanket and sleep on the floor."

It did the trick. Natasha pulled down the zipper, cast off her catsuit, and climbed on top of him. And she was gushing, just as she had promised.

Sliding her cleft down his erection, bobbing with excitement, Natasha leaned over and allowed him to kiss her, part her lips with his tongue and taste her mouth. The bondage, the knots, and most of all, the feeling of her next to him after what seemed like ages, combined to make his breath steam, hitch in his chest. "Oh, please," he begged. When was the last time he begged? "Please, Natasha, fuck me."

She moved, captured his prick within her folds, and slid slowly down the length of his shaft. They both groaned at the unbearable pleasure. "I won't last long," she whispered.

"Thank the gods. Neither will I."

* * *

Natasha brought him a silk robe from the mission as a gift. Loki put it on and admired himself in the full-length mirror, thinking he would wear it later when he attacked her again. Maybe on the sofa, he considered, or on top of the kitchen counters. Or could he talk her into sneaking sex on the tiny balcony in full view of prying neighbors? The robe would be perfect for such an exciting rendezvous; he could take her from behind and out of the windows opposite it would all look perfectly innocent. Somewhat.

The doorbell rang, and he heard her answer it. "Hey, Tony," she said. "Oh, yeah – thanks. I really appreciate the help." There was a rustle that sounded like money exchanging hands.

"Sorry about the boots," Stark replied. "He lost the last round and was out of money, so we made him wear waders home. Pepper will bring his clothes later when they're dry-cleaned."

The realization struck him. Loki waited until the door closed again before he blasted out of the bedroom in a swirl of silk. "You knew all along I was going to disobey you!" he thundered. "In fact, you set up the entire affair, did you not?" He strode up to her, seized her chin, and tilted it up ruthlessly. "And the Stark fellow was in on it as well!"

Unperturbed, Natasha smiled back. "Of course I did. I didn't want you to destroy the elevator systems or reprogram JARVIS, so I left a few other pursuits to take up your time."

"And you just punished me for it, when it was what you intended all along!" He was incensed.

"And you enjoyed every second of that punishment."

That made him stop. "I…this is of no consequence. You tied me down under false pretences!"

Her face did the amused thing again. "You can have that last piece of cake to make up for it."

"Humph." Loki crossed his arms, prepared to hold a grudge and not speak to her for the next two days, before he remembered the balcony and the silk robe. "Actually, I may have remembered a way for you to make it up to me." He bent and whispered his plan in her ear, and she grinned, nodded.

"I have the perfect short skirt and high heels for a balcony scenario – mmm, that's going to be so hot, Loki. However," she added as he grew excited, started to bite her neck and palm the globes of her derriere, "in that case _I_ get the cake."

* * *

_**Loki stumbling around Stark Tower wearing nothing but waders...I'll just let that image sink in. *tiptoes off***_


	11. Singles

**Singles**

* * *

When the letter arrived, Loki and Natasha were sitting on the couch cross-legged eating gelato out of a carton and playing Operation; there was a great deal of cheating going on between them involving tickles and sexual innuendoes. The knock on the door startled Loki, and his tweezers hit the side of the red-nosed man. Instantly the game board buzzed loudly, and he let fly a score of rude words.

"Nice move, Dr. Loki," Natasha taunted as she got up. "It's my turn now."

"This is not fair at all. I get another turn because of the interference." He stopped speaking when he saw who it was at the door: his own brother, bearing a large envelope sealed with swathes of purple ribbon and a heavy seal stamped in wax with the figure of a raven.

"My apologies," Thor said as he handed the letter to Loki. "This had to be delivered at once." He cast a quizzical look at Operation.

"Would you like to play a round with us?" Natasha asked.

Loki twitched his brows together. The last thing he wanted was Thor's presence; his plans were to turn Operation into Seduction very shortly.

Perhaps his brother caught the frown. "Alas, I must return to my chambers. Brother, come and see me once you have read the message." With a deep bow, Thor closed the door behind him.

"That was odd. And I thought you had no contact with Asgard any longer. What does it say?" Natasha leaned over him to see.

Loki tossed it on the ground unopened. "I do not know. Let us return to our game – and I still want to redo my turn."

* * *

As he had hoped, the game ended up in their bed – Loki on his back, Natasha prowling over him with her usual tiny smile. By that point he knew her micro-expressions betrayed the passionate nature within. He tilted up his chin as a command for her to kiss him and she complied willingly, knotting her fingers in his hair before sitting up to ride him again. She undulated like a snake, a wave, a flame. He lay back and watched her, hands on those luscious hips to steady her movements, and he wondered if he ever had such a tender lover in all his centuries. Not that they ever spoke words of love, but that seemed unnecessary. Their bodies did all the talking.

His breath quickened, panting as he approached his climax, and he tried to hold back so he could wait for her, for the perfect moment. "It's okay. I'm ready," Natasha groaned and jolted her pelvis in a hidden rhythm, one he picked up instantly. It was their own little song.

And later as she slumbered in his arms, Loki whispered a few of those words into her hair - only when he was certain she couldn't hear.

* * *

"This is unusual…" Natasha seemed surprised as he brought her breakfast. Coffee, just the way she liked it. One of those chocolate croissants she enjoyed, as well as raspberries.

"Enjoy it, Agent." Loki felt in the pocket of the silk robe she had brought as a gift from Korea. "We are celebrating. Look at this!"

Natasha's eyes widened at the thick sheaf of bills he pulled out of a crumpled envelope. "Where did you get all that money? Did you pull off a heist? Or did Tony talk you into playing poker again?"

"No. I have withheld this from the checks from Fury."

She touched the pile of dollars with one finger. "You're telling me you saved this up out of your pay?"

Carefully he gathered up the stack of what she called Singles. "Exactly so. There are ninety-three of them. When we reach one hundred I will take you to dinner again." Loki hesitated and added, "I was forced to spend some on your pastry and fruits this morning."

Natasha picked up a raspberry and put it between his lips; she grinned when he bit her fingertip. "You're starting to get the hang of this Midgard thing, aren't you?" She checked the time on her phone. "Damn – I have to eat and get dressed. Otherwise I would reward you thoroughly right now."

He couldn't stop himself from grinning widely. "I will hold you to that promise, Agent."

* * *

The hang of the Midgard thing; yes, he thought he had accomplished it. Loki sat in front of his shabby laptop and started his job, analyzing data with home-written programs any underground agency would have sacked cities to own as he ate the last of the raspberries. He had just discovered an interesting trail of data when he remembered the message Thor had brought the night before.

It still lay beside the Operation game. Loki broke the wax seal and smoothed the parchment within; as he read his mind bubbled with surprise and confusion.

Natasha entered the room, fiddling with one glove and muttering something about Fury. She looked up and saw the letter. "Hey! Everything okay? You look sort of shell-shocked."

Loki met her eyes and held up the letter. "It is a writ from the upper echelon in Asgard. They are demanding my return to the palace."

* * *

His rooms in Asgard: he had almost forgotten their scale and luxury. Objects worth many of the Singles he had saved so carefully hung on the walls or were casually strewn over shelves made of rare wood and bilgesnipe ivory, themselves beyond price. A collection of daggers inset with precious stones lurked in one drawer. Huge volumes bound in leather and teak sat on tables and by his immense bed. Clothes worked with fine stitching and embroidery were folded into huge chests between sachets of sweet herbs.

A tunic and breeches were already laid out on a chair for him, awaiting his bath. In the far corner an attendant waited, several linen towels over her arm. "Your water is ready, my prince," she said.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I can do it myself," Loki snapped.

"Heaven's sake?"

"A Midgard phrase – do not mind it. Now, be off." He wanted to lie in the water and forget a recent argument, filled with words like Please and You Do Not Understand and I Cannot Go With You and Damn You to Hel Natasha.

"Have I done something to displease you?" The attendant, he saw, looked terrified. Her arm under the fine towels shook slightly, and the whites of her eyes showed, like those of a nervous horse.

"No – all is well." Loki peered closer at her. "Have I lain with you before, maiden?"

"Yes, my prince." Her desperation became more apparent; he recognized it from himself during those times on Midgard when he had no money. Probably there was a harsh landlord or failed crops on her parents' farm. He could see it in her worried eyes.

"And rewarded you with coin after?"

"Yes, my prince."

"It shall not happen again. Take yourself back to the kitchens..." His voice died off as she nodded and put the linens on a rack. Under a mass of dark hair, her shoulders looked like the folded wings of a defenseless bird.

"Hold one moment." Loki went to a casket, opened it, and lifted a double handful of gold pieces stamped with the likeness of the late Queen Frigga. "Take these with you and tell your mother to put them away carefully. They are yours, and you do not have to lie with anyone for silver ever again. You may go to your home this instant to deliver them – inform the palace housekeeper I have granted you a holiday. She may come to me if she does not believe you, but tell her I will be extremely displeased at her interruption."

Her mouth opened in shock. "But this is a great deal of money! Are you certain there is nothing I can do to make you more comfortable? I truly do not mind."

"No. Return to your family."

* * *

After she left, he climbed into the bath. Loki closed his eyes and realized he had just shut himself off from one of his relentless pursuits when he was younger – that of seduction. Now there was only one person he wanted to seduce, but she existed on another realm. What wouldn't he give to hear Natasha's shouts to get his feet off the sofa, to complain about his old laptop while she laughed at his curses with her smooth thigh pressed against his, to count the pile of Singles he had saved so carefully and press them into her hands? Such tiny moments seemed insignificant at the time but were, he mused, more precious than gold pieces once they were gone. Because gold could be hoarded, but time slipped through one's clutches with no way to save it.

There was no more seduction. There were no more games of Operation rife with cheats and laughter.

And so, as he lay among the clouds of steam and fresh lavender, his mind turned inexorably to the one thing always present in his life: Mischief.


	12. Wager

_**NOTE - The final chapter of Like the Night. I'm turning to my next story, Opium - although I can't rule out more oneshots. Because oneshots, like mischief, are way too much fun.**_

* * *

**Wager**

* * *

"Why is Alfheim withdrawing their trade from our realm?" Baldur demanded.

"No idea, My Lord." The speaker was Asgard's ambassador to Alfheim; she looked harried and windblown.

Loki hid a grin and pretended to bury his nose in the scroll he held. Naturally he was the cause of the trouble in Alfheim; by spreading gossip and rumors he had created a skirmish on their borders that ended with both sides blaming the other for the hostilities.

Baldur closed his eyes and tipped his head back with a defeated groan. "Honestly, I just do not understand how this escalated so quickly. And now the princess from Vanaheim refuses to visit us again. She claims her bed was inhabited with several toads when she got into it last time."

Lady Sif slammed her hand on the table, a loud smack echoing throughout the gallery. "Are you nine years old, to play such foolish tricks? I am tired of your nonsense, Silvertongue. At over one thousand years of age you should be grown up enough to stop this foolishness." She emitted a snort. "Toads!"

"Why do you think I was the cause?" Loki allowed his voice to fill with innocence. "As it happens I agree with you, Sif. The very foolish nature of this trick shows it was not me but some idiotic youth trying to show his admiration for the lady. You will have to look elsewhere for the criminal this time." Of course it was him all along; the princess's frantic shrieks when she found the toads made him double over with laughter. And when she dashed from the room with a look of horror on her usually haughty face, he had to hide in a nearby courtyard so his gales of mirth wouldn't be heard throughout the palace.

"Why do I think so?" Sif repeated. "Because Asgard was actually peaceful when you were on Midgard – no skirmishes, no toads. And if you think this is amusing, allow me to remind you of this – Alfheim has kidnapped Volstagg, and his family demands instant action. This could blow up into a huge situation if something is not done at once."

Loki opened his mouth to let loose a volley of pleasantries about the trials of holding Volstagg prisoner, when a sudden thought struck him. He sat back, winded by his idea, and quickly he formulated a plan that would end his boredom, save Volstagg, and create peace between Asgard and Alfheim. Perhaps he could even ease the ache in his heart at the same time.

Around him, the various delegates had begun to speak. "Mayhap we should increase the guards at our borders," Fandral proposed.

"Forget all that," Loki declared. "There is one person who can solve the problem with no need for bloodshed or war. I propose you hire a certain assassin-spy."

* * *

Of course he was not permitted to go to Alfheim to see events unfold, but the news filtered back to the palace in due course: Agent Romanoff successfully brokered a ceasefire with the realm and returned with Volstagg in tow. Loki couldn't help a grunt of admiration when he heard she stopped on her way back to present the Vanir princess several gifts of chocolate and coffee, considered priceless in that land. With one mission she had smoothed out all of his mischief – well worth the enormous payment she would bring back with her to SHIELD.

However when Volstagg, all swaggers and bluff, entered the gallery Loki felt a twinge of annoyance. "'Twas a true adventure!" the large man bellowed, "worthy of the best bards. The Kidnapping of Volstagg 'twill be 'klept, and I myself shall hire a poet anon to write the lay."

Loki interrupted the loud boast. "Agent Romanoff? Where is she?"

"Ah, the red maiden from Midgard returns to her home apace. And a true Viking maid she is! I left her at the Bifrost not two moments hence…"

Volstagg's voice faded in the distance. Loki had already dashed out of the room.

* * *

He caught up with her at the edge of the bridge. Her skin was very pale as she approached Heimdall, her voice grave as she requested passage back to Earth.

"No!" Loki shouted. "Natasha – wait!"

"Loki." She turned and faced him, and at the sight of her his blood stopped; in fact, everything seemed to stop. "I thought it would be best if I returned at once – we both know what happened the last time I spoke with you."

"Begging the Lady's pardon, but you _must_ stay," Heimdall stated. "The Bifrost is not yet ready to transport you back – there is a loose strand the Fates must tidy here before your return."

Loki felt his blood, frozen for one heart-stopping moment, pump again as he gave the gatekeeper a grateful look; he was almost sorry for all the pranks he had played on the man. "There, you see? We cannot leave untidy strands for the Fates, can we?" He put one arm around her shoulders and turned her back to the palace.

"The last few weeks have been very difficult," Natasha argued. "I don't want to move backwards. I've tried to bury myself in my work…"

"All that aside, you have no choice but to stay with me, even if Heimdall had prepared your passage."

She put both fists on her hips. "Where the hell do you get off saying that, jackass?"

"You told me yourself that you would owe me for the chocolate pastry and berries I brought you for breakfast when we shared our chambers on Midgard," Loki insisted. "You promised me thanks, and I never received it. And so, Agent, it is time for you to give me what I rightfully deserve."

* * *

In his rooms, Loki locked the doors and turned to her. Although he had meant to woo her with fine phrases and a great deal of wine, he found he was unable to do anything but draw her close, hold her as tightly as his trembling arms would allow.

"This is a mistake," she insisted. "We should sit down in a living room somewhere, or a den. Got any dens here in the palace?"

"I will create this salon called Den for you anon," he breathed. "Grant me just an instant of your time to embrace you thus."

Another struggle set her free. "Why? You told me to go to Helheim, said you were tired of me. You said my rules were enough to drive anyone mad. And you mentioned you would go to bed with the first Aesir you met when you returned."

"I was out of my mind." His voice grew very low. "I would have done anything to make you come with me. And - and I still have to sleep on the floor with nothing but an eiderdown for company."

She wandered away from him and leaned her forehead against the bedpost. "I heard what you told me that night when you thought I was asleep," she muttered. "Did you mean it? Or was it another trick?"

"Why should I lie if I thought you were asleep?"

Natasha tipped her face up to his ceiling as though she had just made a decision. "I – damn it! Get the fuck over here, you bastard."

"Oh," Loki gasped, as he sprang forward and folded her into a long kiss. In truth he almost did not want to sleep with her, although his member was already rearing and struggling against the laces of his leathers; lying together would mean an end of this final sojourn and a difficult goodbye, made even more dreadful with the unbearable pleasure in each passing moment. "Please, Natasha, allow me to…" He interrupted himself with another deep kiss.

* * *

Lovemaking was an art, he had discovered early on, and the men and women in his bed were gratified to be thoroughly pleased by his tongue and body. He liked to parade around the room, skewering his victims with a glance to make them tremble for what was about to come, whether it might be torture or delight. Sometimes he produced various items or other participants, all to watch the shamed blushes of his current lovers and hear their tumbling words of desire.

But with Natasha he simply wanted to hold her near, and when at last he slipped inside (as they both knew he would) it was with a gathering sadness he thrust, still kissing her. Little murmurs of pleasure escaped them both, and when he came close Loki withdrew, eyes fixed upon hers, before he entered her again.

And again.

And again.

But each time bore him closer to the final throes, the feeling mounting inside like an oncoming storm, and when it broke with all the violence of a volcano he shouted and plunged like a salmon thrown up on the bank of a river, fighting for life.

* * *

"I should…"

"No." Loki shook his head and held her more firmly. "No, not now." If he had been a salmon she was now like a silver minnow about to dart through his fingers.

Natasha settled herself comfortably on his shoulder. "I was going to say I should remind you that you promised me something as well."

A tiny thread of hope thrummed within him. "Did I? And what was that?"

"You said when the stack of money you were saving became one hundred dollars you would take me out to dinner. Your final paycheck came through last Friday, and I added seven bucks out of it to your pile. Guess what – you've _got_ to return to Midgard for our date."

"Ah." Loki nodded solemnly and pressed her knuckles to his lips. "The council will have to understand I simply_ must_ make good on my promise. As a prince I have to honor my word." He couldn't keep the triumph out of his voice; suddenly he foresaw a shining trail of vows and wagers designed to keep two unlikely beings together for as long as they wished.

Natasha's eyes sparkled with something he immediately recognized as mischief. "Maybe we can play Operation after the meal. I bet you I'll win this time."

His heartache melted, as a spike of ice would waver under the force of a warm breeze. "I shall accept your bet," he whispered into her hair.

END


End file.
